


Wings

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 14, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Caring Dean Winchester, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, God is listening, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-sexy showers, Romance, Showers, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 10:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17262539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When the portal closes to Apocalypse World locking Michael and Lucifer on the other side, it takes a little while longer for them to reopen the portal and changes what happens that day when Michael storms the bunker."The Archangel paused, finally drawing his gaze to his other worldly brother, something like realisation dawning on his face. His lips pulled into a cruel smirk as he changed his course and headed towards Castiel, grabbing the dark hair of his vessel, and snapping his head up. Cas struggled against the hold, but Michael was too strong.“So,” Michael began, addressing Dean, “You care for the fallen angel. Your little pet.” "





	Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the lacklustre title, I've had this idea for months and yet I still can't think of a better one!
> 
> Evil!Castiel was not as shown, he was in fact more like Cas under Naomi and rarely spoke other than to respond to orders. A few of the angels in apocalypse world survived and followed Michael to the normal world.  
> When the angels fell their wings were not destroyed, but just damaged, most to the point of usability.

The portal withered, tear in space getting progressively smaller as Rowena struggled to keep it open, still waiting for the Winchesters and Gabriel to appear. Castiel took stance beside her ready to strike lest any rogue angel attempt to come through, a compromise he made after Jack had begged him not to go after Sam and Dean and risk his life, again. Mary, having the closest bond with the other world refugees, had gone to help them settle in to the bunker, something as simple as the prospect of a hot shower had them tearing up with joy.

Jack had tried to help Rowena using some of his grace but, like his uncle, he was too weak to sustain it for long, and now he sat anxiously next to his father, hand subconsciously clinging to the tan trench coat. They weren’t sure if time moved in the same way across both worlds, but as the minutes passed Jack could tell that Castiel was close to just throwing himself through the portal to check that everything was ok.

Cas practically lunged forward when the portal flashed open, Dean appearing quickly followed by Sam, and Jack jumped up from his seat to follow. Slipping the angel blade back into his coat, Cas raised his hand to hold onto Dean’s arm, where long ago he had marked him. Sam threw an arm around Jack’s shoulders, pulling him close, the relief coming off him in waves.

“You’re safe,” Jack hummed in happiness, turning to Rowena with a smile that quickly faded when he saw her exhaustion, arm shaking as the portal remained open.

“Where’s Gabriel?” she asked, breath laboured.

There was a silence, and even though he knew the answer from the look in Dean’s eye, Cas whispered, “Dean?”

“He fought Michael to help us escape,” Dean answered, eyes never leaving Castiel’s face, “I’m sorry, Cas.”

Rowena let her arm drop, the portal finally closing in on itself, leaving no clue that it had ever existed. She pushed herself to her feet, trying to pretend she was fine, but only made a few steps before she collapsed forward, completely drained. Before any of the four had the chance to catch her, arms encircled her waist and pulled her back against a firm chest.

Four pairs of eyes traced their gazes along the leather-clad arms and up to a familiar face, stubble framing a cheeky grin, a raised eyebrow, “What can I say? I make the ladies swoon.”

His eyes flashed blue for a moment, grace flowing over Rowena, making her gasp like an electric shock. Fully lucid now, she looked down to the hands still on her waist, “Gabriel?”

“The one and only,” he said, pulling away and vanishing, appearing on the other side of the table, flicking nonchalantly through Rowena’s spell book.

“How- we saw you die!” Sam said in disbelief.

“Funny how that keeps happening, huh?” he said, looking up from the book, “Do you really think I’d risk fighting against Michael? He’d kill me in an instant, the giant dickbag. All you needed was a distraction, so I gave you one. Speaking of which, _you’re welcome._ ”

“So, what, you pulled a fast one on him?” Dean asked.

Gabriel levelled him with a look of disdain, “Trickster,” he said, pointing to himself as though explaining to a child.

“When did you even come through the portal?” Sam tried to clarify, trying to wrap his head around whatever Gabriel’s plan had been.

“With the rest of the guys, Sammy. It’s really not that hard to disguise yourself as a rugged hunter.”

Dean stepped forward in anger, the calming hand of Cas on his arm the only thing stopping him from punching the smug archangel, “So, you weren’t even there with us? What if they saw through your illusion? You’d just leave us there to die?”

“Oh Dean-o, ye of little faith.” Gabriel rolled his eyes, “Everything my double sees, I see. I would have come if anything happened. Probably. Besides, I know my brothers. Michael could never see though my tricks; the pranks me and Lucifer used to pull on him...”

“You used to trick Michael?” Jack asked. Despite the fact that most of his family were set on ending the world he liked to hear stories of them all the same.

“I used to trick everyone, kid. I got Cassie here a few times,” he looked over to Cas who narrowed his eyes at him in return, “Me and Luci even pranked Dad once.”

Jack was practically gravitating towards the angel, excited, but Dean was a little more perturbed; he didn’t want to hear his family laughing about the actions of the creature who had killed half of the people present. Multiple times.

“Ok, enough reminiscing, Grandpa,” Dean said, ignoring Gabriel mouthing ‘ _I’ll tell you later’_ to Jack, “We have to get the hunters sorted, then have a plan for when Michael-”

He trailed off when Castiel dropped his arm down and squeezed Dean’s wrist, “Dean, you should rest. We all should rest.”

“Cas, there’s no way Michael and Lucifer won’t find their way back here. Lucifer knows the spell, they only need the ingredients.”

“And it will take them time to find them Dean. We have time.” Cas smiled at him, and for once Dean felt a little bit more at peace.

 

* * *

 

 

It was odd to see Castiel so passive, so willing to do as he was told and not at the beck and call of Dean Winchester. Here he was the soldier of heaven the legends had told of, the true leader of his garrison.

Surprisingly it was... boring. At least other world Castiel had a spark about him, something that almost reminded him of himself. Every time he had tried to strike up a conversation with this version of the angel all he got was an unnerving blank stare.

All the other angels were the same, emotionless and dull. Even this psycho version of Michael was tedious, still more content to spend hours strategizing and planning, no fun, no flair.

It was almost a relief when, after two months of gathering ingredients for the spell, Michael turned to him and plunged the archangel blade into his chest, his grace seeping out and opening the portal.

 

* * *

 

 

Michael looked down at the body of his dead brother, wings scorched into the ground. It was a shame that after all this time, after finally realising his brother was right about humanity, he had to kill him. But Lucifer had become soft, tainted by the humanity he claimed to hate.

True vessel or not, he had a dangerous attraction to the tall human from the other world, along with its family. He had seen, moments before the brothers left, how Lucifer wanted to go with them, had allied himself with them.

And the boy, his half-human son. Lucifer seemed to genuinely want a life with him, was ready to set aside his hatred of Father’s creation and raise the child.

No, he couldn’t allow his brother to remain an obstacle, not when he planned to destroy the boy he tried to pretend he didn’t care for.

Stepping over the vessel, he signalled to Castiel and the other angels, and together they approached the portal.

 

* * *

 

 

Things had been good at the bunker, the biggest threat since apocalypse world being some rowdy demons intent on making Sam the new King of Hell. Who knew that demons were so scared of Sam Winchester raising his voice?

The hunters had slowly been leaving the bunker, assimilating into their lives in the new world, and even Mary had taken time off with Bobby. Sam had gone with Charlie on a few cases, before she too decided to try and leave the life behind, something which Dean reluctantly agreed with; she may not be the same Charlie from their world, but he saw her as family nonetheless and would do anything to let her have the normal life she was robbed of. And maybe a chance to find the alternate version of the woman she had so loved in the other world.

The cases had been easy, simple salt and burns and clearing vampire nests, and Dean found himself looking proudly at the little family he had made, Jack happier than he had ever seen him. He wasn’t even that mad when Gabriel would randomly pop in from wherever he had been hiding out.

Even Dean had started to forget about the risk of Michael coming back.

 

* * *

 

 

They were researching a case, some suspicious disappearances in New Mexico, when the rumble of thunder and the thumping of the bunker door brought them back to reality. Ethereal blue light spilled out from under the door as the metal wrought and started to give way.

“Sam, take Jack and go,” Dean yelled over the noise, as Castiel unsheathed his angel blade and stood firm beside him.

Sam held Jack by shoulders, but made no effort to flee, “Dean, no, Michael wants you!”

“And Lucifer wants to kill Jack!” Dean retorted, “Please, Sam, I can’t lose you. Either of you.”

“And you think we can lose you?” Jack said, voice barely there as the crashing reached its climax, “I’m stronger now than I was, I can fight him.”

There was no time for more arguing, the door blasting off its hinges and Michael descending the steps, unaffected by the hail of gunfire Sam and Dean threw at him. Castiel struck him as soon as his feet hit the bottom step, but the blade did little more than tear through clothing and he was quickly flung across the room, the force cracking the wall and causing him to crumple to the floor. Michael swept Sam and Dean aside too with a wave of the hand, leaving Jack to face him alone.

“Jack,” Michael said, and just his voice made the Nephilim’s skin crawl, “Your father had a lot to say about you.”

“I will never go with Lucifer,” he said, trying to hide his fear. He knew what Michael had done to people in the apocalypse world, had seen the devastation, the torture, “And I will never go with you.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about Lucifer, I’ve already dealt with my brother. You know, in his own way I think he really did love you. Shame that it was too much of a weakness to allow him to live.” Michael advanced on him, grace lighting up in his eyes, “Not when my plan all along has been to destroy you. You are an abomination. And the war on this new world will be sparked with your blood.”

Jack could feel Michael’s grace choking him, and he sank to his knees as he struggled to breathe. His vision blurred but he could hear Castiel shouting to him, crying out for him and something in him snapped. He wouldn’t let them die, he couldn’t make them watch him die.

Grace surged through him and the invisible grasp on his throat released, Michael stumbled back as the sheer power of Jack’s grace crushed his true form, his vessel’s eyes weeping blood. He could feel Michael’s grace warring with his own, an immovable force against an unstoppable object.

 

* * *

 

 

All too soon it stopped, both celestials weakened, barely able to stand. Michael cursed to himself, his normally level head and strategy blindsided by the perfect situation presented to him, the ease of getting to the boy; he should have taken his true vessel first, this _Dean_ , then he would have been stronger.

No matter, he reasoned, the boy was weakened too, and he would replenish far sooner than his adversary, especially in his true vessel.

Pulling himself to his feet, he grabbed Dean, still vastly stronger than him even with depleted grace. Ignoring the pitiful attempt at stopping him from the human and the fallen angel, he spread his wings and flew, taking his vessel with him to the church the portal had opened to. The church had been stripped bare, no pews in sight, but the pulpit remained. Stained-glass windows lined the walls, scenes of biblical wonder, of angels smiting the wicked. His Father was in favour of punishing humans in the past, but since He departed Heaven He was no longer there to command them to deal with the downfall of His creation. No, if He were to see the state of them now, He would praise Michael for doing his Heavenly duty.

Before Dean could even catch a breath, Michael threw him to the floor, kicking him hard in the stomach, “You _will_ agree to be my vessel.”

The human wheezed pathetically, trying to push himself to his feet. Michael took great joy in forcing him back down, boot crushing the bones in his hand. The way he tried not to scream was admirable.

“Go on, you can stop all this, if you only say yes.”

“Never,” the human spat, words barely comprehensible through his obvious pain.

“Oh, Dean, it’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when,” he aimed another kick, this time into Dean’s ribs, “I don’t care how many of your bones I have to break, how much I have to make you bleed. I won’t stop until you accept your destiny.”

Dean’s eyes were struggling to stay open as he began to lose consciousness, “I- I won’t.”

“Oh no, we can’t have you falling asleep on me,” Michael mocked, crouching down beside him, and pressing two fingers to his forehead, grace forcing him to stay awake, “You are going to feel every second of this.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Dean!” Cas cried as he watched Michael take him away, barely able to believe that the peace that had been living in over the past few weeks had been shattered in less than an hour.

Sam was already heading over to Jack, helping him to his feet and checking him over. Cas stumbled over to them both, and was relieved that Jack was at least ok, though he could tell he was weakened.

“We need to find them,” Jack said, Sam supporting most of his weight.

Cas didn’t speak, he couldn’t, stayed silent even as he stormed through the bunker to the store cupboard. Rifling through the shelves of countless ingredients he could hear Jack and Sam calling for him, not stilling in his frantic search. He brought his bounty back to the foyer, throwing it to the table and drawing out a sigil.

“Cas,” Sam said, recognising the ingredients and offering up his palm from which Cas drew blood and he squeezed into the bowl, “Even if we track Michael, how are we going to get to him? How are we going to fight him?”

He didn’t answer, crushing up the ingredients and preparing the spell.

“Come on, man, we need to come up with something!” Sam tried again.

“ _Zod ah mah rah na ee es lah gee roh sah_ ” Cas chanted, the contents of the bowl glowing where it rested on the sigil, Cas’ eyes lighting up in the same way, “He’s in North Carolina, in a church in Pinehurst.”

“North Carolina? Shit, we don’t have time.” Sam cursed, “There must be some kind of spell we can use. Or someone who can fly us there-”

“You’re right, we don’t have time,” he said, “I can fly there and distract Michael enough for you to rescue Dean.”

“Cas are you crazy? He’ll kill you!”

“Maybe so, but with Gabriel’s help you can save Dean.” Cas explained, and Sam could see he was preparing to leave.

He grabbed Cas’ sleeve “No, I can’t let you do this. Not alone.”

“I’m not asking permission,” he said, shaking the hand away, “I have already prayed to Gabriel, he should arrive imminently.”

And with that he flew towards Pinehurst, wings screaming out in pain. He had known for a while that they were barely healthy enough to sustain a single flight, the process so draining that he would be insurmountably weak when he landed. But he had to, had to give enough time for Sam and Jack to convince Gabriel to help them.

There was no warding on the church and with a thud he landed on the cool marble of the dusty floor, his wing muscles aching. He did his best to stand, blackness creeping at the edge of his vision as his eyes caught the bloodied figure of Dean and the intensity of Michael’s true form towering over him.

“Dean!” he cried, and not a second later he was flung across the room.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam didn’t know what to do, was out of his depth. Both Dean and Cas were at the mercy of Michael over a thousand miles away and Gabriel was refusing to face his brother, insisting that he’d fought his fight.

His despondence quickly gave way to anger, slamming Gabriel into the wall, “Don’t you get it? Dean has given everything, his whole life to fight this fight, _your_ fight, and you’re still too much of a coward to stand up to your own brother and face him!”

“Oh, please with that-” he tried, but Sam could see the hurt flash behind his eyes, the truth hitting far too close.

“And it’s not just him, its Castiel too! You know as well as I do that he has no chance against Michael yet there he is again. Michael is his brother too! And every angel he’s ever fought to protect the world against Michael and Lucifer and whatever other evil in the world. He abandoned everything, his home, his family...” Sam panted harshly, pleading now, “You’re the only one who can help.”

Gabriel drooped against the hold, hanging his head, and Sam let him go, standing back.

“Please Gabriel,” Jack said quietly from behind them, and the archangel’s head rose to look at him. He could see tendrils of Lucifer in his grace, pure shining light almost too blinding for his own eyes, the way his brother used to be before he fell, before he was warped by jealousy. But more prominent was the buzz that was so much like Castiel, the energy that may not have shone but was loud and untamed, so much more than the muted hum when he was a solider of heaven. And there, on top of it all, was the sparkle of something unique, something innocent and childlike that reminded him not only of the countless fledglings he had seen raised, but of himself.

This boy, orphaned by his mother, betrayed by his real father, forced to abandon being a child, spent months in a world decimated by his uncle, all he had left were the Winchesters and Castiel, who were soon to be ripped away.

Gabriel loved his family, but he could no longer venerate them, allow them mercy purely because in the past they had been happy. Now they had discarded anything that had made them his brothers, his family.

He brought his gaze back to Sam, nodding.

 

* * *

 

 

When they arrived outside the church it appeared normal, as most of these places often did, an old stone church nestled between the sprawling suburbs. There was no warding, certainly not any to keep out Gabriel, Michael evidently very sure in the capability of his defences.

Gabriel’s eyes flashed briefly, scanning the building, “Five angels in the foyer, not including Cassie or Michael who are in the main hall with Dean.”

“Only five?” Jack asked, remembering the number of angels Michael had at his disposal in the other world.

“It’s not like he had to expect much opposition,” Sam reasoned, leading them to the heavy wooden door, “Lucifer probably told Michael all about heaven and the fallen angels.”

“Well, let’s get this over with,” Gabriel said, clicking his fingers, and forcing the doors open.

The three of them surged inside, allowing the doors to slam shut behind them to protect any innocents walking by. Sam saw Cas immediately, his tie backwards and his hair mussed. He was standing alongside four other angels, Sam recognised Ishim and Hannah, but the others he didn’t know.

He was about to call out to Cas, but Jack pressed a hand to his arm and shook his head.

“That’s not Cas,” he said, watching as Gabriel unsheathed his angel blade and sent the five of them sprawling back with a wave of the hand.

 

* * *

 

 

Michael threw Castiel across the room with a wave of his hand, not even bothering to look away from Dean clutching his ribs on the floor.

“Cas!” he choked out, though he was sure blood was coating his lips.

The Archangel paused, finally drawing his gaze to his other worldly brother, something like realisation dawning on his face. His lips pulled into a cruel smirk as he changed his course and headed towards Castiel, grabbing the dark hair of his vessel, and snapping his head up. Cas struggled against the hold, but Michael was too strong.

“So,” Michael began, addressing Dean, “You care for the fallen angel. Your little pet.”

Dean spat the blood clogging his mouth, glaring in murderous hatred.

“How sweet,” he said, before slamming Cas’ head into the ground and pulling him back up so Dean could see the damage, the crookedness of his nose that his limited grace was struggling to heal, “Say yes or I’ll kill him.”

“Dean, no!” Cas managed to gasp out, taking another beating from Michael as a punishment. Through the haze of pain they locked eyes, and Dean could see that Cas was pleading with him not to consent.

Dean knew that Cas wouldn’t live even if he said yes. Michael wouldn’t keep any promises and Dean would have to watch through Michael’s eyes as what were once Dean’s hands killed Castiel. No, as long as he refused Cas at least had a chance; Michael would not waste his bargaining chip by killing him.

“N-no,” he whispered, heart hurting and he was forced to watch Michael beat Cas bloody. He shut his eyes, trying to tune out the pained grunts of his friend, picturing apocalypse world and the devastation of the Earth if he said yes.

“Say it!” Michael commanded, angelic fury a thunderous roar and shadowed wings covering the whole chamber.

The hunter pushed himself up as far as his broken ribs allowed, staring defiantly at Michael, “No.”

His eyes blazed, and before Dean could blink he was pinned to a pillar, grace binding him upright and keeping his eyes wide. Michael didn’t say anything else, but he shifted his hold to the back of Cas’ neck, bruising grip slamming him into the wall face first. Michael kept him there, reaching out with his free hand and clasping around something Dean couldn’t see, but as he did so Cas bit back a sharp cry.

“You have sunk so low, Castiel,” Michael jeered, “Once a solider, now _this._ A plaything for humans. You’re practically a human yourself. If not for these.” He tugged again, and this time when Cas cried out Dean realised that it was Cas’ wings. He was holding Cas’ wings. “Don’t worry, I can fix that.”

The hand around his neck lessened, but even as Cas struggled he couldn’t move more than turning his head. Dean could see the pain on his face, and the panic in his eyes and he had to swallow down his own cries, reminding himself over and over that saying ‘yes’ would be worse, _it would be worse god dammit._

He kept his eyes on Cas’ face, hating the fear there but he couldn’t bear to watch what Michael was doing to the invisible wings. He heard the rustle of something and out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of silver, a blade he belatedly realised, in Michael’s hand. Michael moved his hold closer to Cas’ back, gripped at where the roots of his wings must have been, and Dean could only watch on in horror as he raised the blade and hacked down, once, twice, three times.

The scream shook the walls, the angelic voice making his ears bleed and the windows to shatter. A wave of nausea swept over him as the reverberation thundered in his rib cage. Vision blurred, he could make out the shape of Michael lifting Castiel further, throwing him to the floor and the sharp clang of the sword hitting the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack doubled over in pain, body practically convulsing with shivers. Just as Sam was about to reach out for him he saw that the remaining angels in the room were in the same state, some with bleeding eyes and faces contorted in anguish.

Taking the opportunity as a distraction, he stabbed his angel blade into the other-world Castiel and the last two renegade angels, vessels crumpling to the floor with wings burned into the ground. He had to look away from the body of other-world Cas, that familiar tan trench-coat and the crooked tie, the sight too familiar to that day many months ago when Jack was born.

Jack had yet to get up from the floor, head clutched in his hands even after the shaking stopped. Sam rushed over to him and was relieved to see he was breathing, eyes blinking unseeingly.

“Jack! Jack can you hear me?” Sam said, worry lacing his tone.

Jack only whimpered in response, curling into Sam’s warmth, and tangling his hands in the flannel shirt for comfort.

“Gabriel, what the hell was that?” he asked, wiping the blood away from Jack’s ears.

“Sam...” Gabriel said from behind him, sounding more broken than after his time in Hell, tears mixed with blood on his cheeks, “That was...”

He didn’t continue. He looked nauseous, but he stumbled towards the chamber doors, and flung them wide. With Jack clinging to him so tightly, Sam had no choice but to pick the boy up and follow, wanting to stick close to Gabriel to stay safe.

As soon as Gabriel stepped into the room, he collapsed to his knees.

 

* * *

 

 

Pain. All-encompassing pain.

His body felt cold. His _grace_ , usually a white-hot supernova, felt like liquid nitrogen through his form, his body shaking uncontrollably and ears ringing.

He looked up, finding he was splayed on the floor, but he could only find the strength to shift his head, arms and legs non-cooperative.

A blade, coated with thick oozing blood and matted feathers.

A pair of feet, black boots once owned by a devout human who prayed, now the shoes of an Archangel.

Feathers, and bone, and blood. As his eyes focused more he could see the black feathers, the arch of the wing-bone, the stump of snapped bone and torn muscle.

He closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Gabriel shook as he looked at the carnage within, crying out at the sight of his brother.

Sam set a still unsteady Jack on his feet, keeping his face turned away and buried in the fabric at his chest, “Don’t look, Jack,” he rasped out, taking in the scene.

Michael was standing across from Dean, blood splattered on his face, on the walls, pooling on the floor. Below him lay two massive black wings, feathers crooked and broken, some missing in places, but they were no longer attached to their owner, bone sliced through and blood dripping from the severed joints.

Cas was face down on the floor, bloodied stumps on his back all that remained, shirt soaked red, almost black with the sheer amount that was spilling out.

Michael looked a little surprised to see the brother he was sure he killed, but quickly recovered, “Up to your old tricks again, Gabriel?”

“Michael,” Gabriel whispered in anguish, “What have you done?”

“What I had to.” He said, and the nonchalance caused the repressed wrath from years of torture to resurface in Gabriel. Neither Archangel was at full strength, but Gabriel was still worse off with his muted grace. It had been pulled every which way over the past few years, and with killing Asmodeus and trying to open the rift only a few months ago, it was barely stronger than a seraph’s.

Regardless he surged forward, blade at the ready. Michael just laughed, raising his hand to swipe Gabriel away with his grace, but quickly sobered when he stood steadfast against the force. It was a testament to how incensed Gabriel was that he didn’t even attempt to make a joke about impotence, and instead attacked him, aiming to stab his shoulder and end this.

Resorting to a more physical fight, Michael dodged the blow, twisting Gabriel’s arm so his vessel’s bone broke and making him drop the angel blade. Michael made a grab for it, but his brother was too quick, kneeing him sharply in the chest. The injuries of both their vessels healed fast, only a momentary disruption before they were fighting fiercely once more.

Even with their matched power, Gabriel was being pushed back to the defensive, years of slumming it on Earth no match for the practised soldier his brother was. With one misplaced foot he found himself knocked to the floor, head smacking against the marble below and cracking it. It dazed him for longer than it should have, and he almost missed it when Michael snatched the discarded blade up and stalked towards him. He rolled quickly away from a stab that would have pierced his stomach, stumbling to his feet, and rounded on his brother again. Michael easily kicked his feet out from under him and he fell to his knees once more. A hand forced its way around his neck keeping him in place.

Michael jabbed the blade towards Gabriel, but he was able to stop its course, both hands coming up to cover the hand around the weapon and pushing it away with all his strength. It was still poised above his chest, and his arms were weakening by the second, unable to keep holding him at bay.

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. There were flashes of white smeared with red, gold as bright as the stars, black, black everywhere. Shadows, and marbled floor, and ruffled feathers, and the sky beyond the broken windows. The air smelt metallic, ferrous, mingling with damp and the petrichor of the rainy night. He could hear voices, he thought, muted like being underwater, but one clear and bright telling him to get up, to stand. There was something so compelling about it that he couldn’t disobey.

He wasn’t sure if he had arms, in this dream, but he pushed with something and, no, that mustn’t have been right because pain ripped through him. But the voice kept coaxing, and while the push still hurt, an impossible pain that seemed beyond even the pain of death, the words soothed him, and he was swaying on his... yes, those were his knees. There was something shiny in front of him, and like a magpie he couldn’t resist plucking it up, feeling the sticky handle in his palm. It looked odd. He couldn’t remember what it was, but he knew it looked _wrong._ It was heavy, or perhaps that was just the weight of his arm, so he let his arm drop.

The room was spinning, moving about like dancers, the gold and the white ebbing and flowing. It reminded him of that shore long ago with his brother, the little fish so important to the world. Was he the fish?

He didn’t know.

But... there was something familiar in the thought. His brother. Something important.

His head swam as he looked around again, this time seeing a light, pure and bright and ethereal. He felt a physical pull towards it that it drew him to his feet. The light, for a second, was brighter than his eyes could comprehend, and he couldn’t see at all, but it quickly dimmed and suddenly he could see clearly, see the brass where the light should have been, the amulet against black cloth, resting on a solid breathing chest.

Dean. Sam. His family.

Michael.

His... his wings. The black mass on the floor, his plumage soaked with blood.

The weight of the Archangel blade in his hand drew his attention away, reminding him of the sounds of fighting in the room, and he saw Gabriel beaten to his knees, Michael sneering down at him, grace flaring in his eyes. Castiel was close to them, and how they hadn’t noticed him he wasn’t sure, but Jack had, staring at him with wide eyes from the doorway, Sam trying to hold him back.

“Michael!” the boy yelled, and Cas took a step forward to stop him, too weak to speak.

With the momentary distraction Jack held up his palm, restraining Michael with his grace. Cas could see both of them straining, powers both too strong for each other. He took laboured steps forward, unbalanced by the lack of wings, but the unexpected forward propulsion made it easier to stagger forward and plunge the blade into Michael’s back.

He was knocked off his feet again, falling to his back with indescribable agony, weight on an already brutal wound. Grace poured out of Michael’s vessel as he roared in agony, like flames engulfing him in a flash of light, his vessel dropping unceremoniously to the floor in a heap, enormous wings burned into the ground.

There was a sound across from him as Dean, finally unbound, dropped to the floor, breath catching as his ribs shifted. Jack fell back into Sam’s arms, unpractised at handling such an immense amount of power.

Gabriel sat back on his heels, catching his breath, and avoiding looking at his dead brother. When he heard Castiel’s whimper, he rushed up towards him, rolling him on his side and wrapping an arm around him, taking care to avoid where his wings used to be, “Cassie, I can’t... I can’t fix them.”

“Dean... Dean needs... heal Dean,” was all he could breath out as black tinged the edge of his vision again, and he lost consciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

Gabriel had healed a near-hysterical Dean at Castiel’s request, before taking Cas into his arms and teleporting him and Dean back to the bunker. He came back for Sam and the too weak Jack, not speaking to either before heading back to the chamber.

Ignoring his brother’s body and the copious amount of blood on the floor, he tore down one of the heavy curtains flapping in the wind and lay it on the ground. Taking a deep pained breath, he reverently picked up one severed wing, supporting the precious feathers beneath his palms. He placed it onto the fabric, repeating the process for the other wing before gingerly wrapping them up. Cradling the bundle in his arms, his eyes swept over the room once more before catching sight of the blade still embedded in Michael’s back.

He used his grace to summon it closer, not recognising it as any angelic blade he had ever seen before. Where Castiel had found it, he did not know. Slipping it into his sleeve, he flew back to the bunker.

 

* * *

 

 

“Will he be ok?” Jack asked, looking down at the unconscious Castiel in the bed below, lying on his side. Dean sat at his bedside, his face blank, eyes red-rimmed, hands cradling Cas’ in his own.

While Gabriel had been at the chamber, Sam had immediately called Rowena, begging for her help. It didn’t take much convincing, not with the obvious tremor in his voice and the quiet sobbing coming from Dean in the background. It had taken her a few hours, but she arrived with her bag of tricks and a sombre expression, usually sarcastic greeting falling away at the sight of Sam’s ashen face.

“He’s alive.” Sam replied, trying his best to balance comfort and the truth, watching Rowena try any spell she could think of to help Cas, “But this is... I’m not sure if it’s something you ever truly come back from.”

Jack sniffed, and Sam wrapped an arm around him, “I heard his scream. I could feel his pain, Sam. It was...” and he burst into sobs again, still disturbed.

Sam stopped himself from asking more, though he was curious as to how the horrific act had incapacitated so many angels.

“Wings are the most sacred parts of an angel,” Gabriel said from behind them, as though hearing Sam’s thought. He moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Jack, and Sam could tell from the slight release of Jack’s tension that Gabriel was reaching out his grace in comfort, “God can accept the killing of angels, hell, he forged blades that could kill them, he can even accept torture of them,” the bitter note in his voice was not lost on Sam, “But an angel’s wings are sacred. Only for an angel to touch, only for an angel to see in all their true glory. For an angel to cut... to do this. It is unspeakable. Unthinkable.” He scrubbed a hand across his face, “Wings are more than just a manifestation of grace. It is difficult to explain to humans what they mean. It’s more than losing a limb. It’s like losing part of your soul.”

“And you and Jack could feel it? When he...”

“Not the act itself. Castiel’s pain. Broadcast on all frequencies on Angel Radio. It rippled through our grace.”

“Is there any way to help him?”

Gabriel looked down and didn’t answer. Sam nodded again, squeezing Jack closer.

 

* * *

 

 

It was light when he woke, a comforting glow from the lamps of the bunker. There was no cold stone, no oppressive aura, just a comforting warmth. He was on his side, and as soon as he opened his eyes he found himself looking at Dean’s sleeping face. He looked gaunt, shadows cast on his face exacerbating the effect, but otherwise looked healthy. Gaze travelling down across Dean’s form, he followed the length of his arm to his hands, where they were entwined with his own.

He felt weak, his back aching, his grace violated, but the softness of Dean’s skin, the thrumming of life through the flesh soothed him. It took him a lot of effort, but he squeezed his fingers around Dean’s. The touch was light, barely there, but Dean’s eyes shot open and he sat up, blinking rapidly.

It took him a few moments to realise that Cas was awake, and he practically jolted out of his chair, pressing his face into Cas’ neck, whispering against his skin, “Cas,” was all he could make out between the muffled sobbing.

“Dean,” he replied with as much of a smile as he could muster, “You’re ok. You’re here.”

“Yeah, Cas, I am,” he pulled back and gave Cas a watery smile, “You’re here too.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yes. I don’t know how. Only an archangel is supposed to be able to do it. But you did, Cas, whatever it was, you did it.”

Cas frowned as he remembered what he thought was a dream, “Someone was speaking to me. They told me it would work.”

“What? Who was it?”

“I don’t...I’m not...” another thought, the amulet, that glow that calmed everything, “God. It was... God.”

“What? How?”

“I don’t know. But your amulet, it glowed, and it gave me strength. And the blade. It was different. I think... I think God gave it to me.”

“And he couldn’t have given you your wings back at the same time?” Dean growled out indignantly, not thinking about tact until it was too late. His eyes grew wide and he shied away from Cas, “I’m sorry, Cas, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s ok Dean. I know they’re gone. It wasn’t your fault.”

Dean stood at that, chair scraping across the ground, “How can you say that? I was there! I had to hear you scream, I had to watch him... he... if I had said yes I could have prevented all of this!”

“And millions would have died. I probably would have died too, and Sam, and Jack.” Cas soothed him, attempting to sit up, wincing at the sharp pain as his back muscles moved, “If the price to pay for their safety was only my wings I’d do it again, every time.”

Dean stepped back up to the bed, gentle hands helping Cas to sit up on the edge of the bed, “It should have been me. You shouldn’t have had to sacrifice anything.”

“You’ve sacrificed enough in your life Dean. Besides,” Cas didn’t like lying to Dean, but him knowing how much this meant to him, how hollow he felt, how defiled, it would only make Dean tear himself apart with guilt, “This was a small one to make. They were barely usable anyway.”

“I know what you’re trying to do, Cas. But Gabriel already told us what it meant.” Dean said quietly, “He and Jack could feel everything through your grace.”

Cas looked down at his lap, caught out, “I didn’t know that. I would never wish for my brethren to experience that. Are they ok?”

Dean sighed a little at the deflection, realising in that moment just how similar he and Cas were, worrying about other’s pain rather than his own. He sat on the bed beside him, pressing himself close, letting Cas take some comfort in his presence, “Jack is... very upset. It was a lot for him. Sam has been helping him, but I think it would be good if he saw you sooner rather than later. Gabriel is managing, trying to take on the big brother role he’s not exactly used to. He hasn’t make a joke in the whole time you’ve been out, it’s actually kind of unnerving.”

“And how long have I been out for?”

“Three days.”

Cas nodded absently, eyes wandering over Dean, noticing the bags under his eyes and the wrinkles in his shirt. He was in the same clothes as before, Cas realised, and his hair was unwashed, flecks of blood spattered at his hairline and over his shirt. The sight of blood made his stomach lurch, and he could almost smell it, the vast pools that had spurted out of his now severed wings, the bitter metallic edge. Taking a steadying breath, he looked away, the normally calming sight of Dean unbearable.

“And how long have you been here?” he asked unnecessarily, trying to distract his thoughts.

Dean’s silence was telling, but not what he was hoping for. He needed his voice.

“You should shower. And rest.” Cas said, looking away.

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t want to leave in case I missed you waking up.” He replied, taking Cas’ hand into his own. Cas looked down at where their fingers were entwined on his thigh. He remembered the feel of the blade, the handle tacky with his own blood. They were mostly clean now, blood washed away, but Cas could see the red staining his fingernails, his cuticles tainted.

He dry-heaved, doubling over as he could taste bile in his throat.

“Cas!”

“I’m sorry,” Cas rasped, “I didn’t... the blood.”

Dean looked at him for a moment, but backed away once he realised, “Oh, shit, Cas I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. I’ll go wash up. Will you be ok?”

Cas wasn’t sure he would be, “Can I come with you? I would like to shower, too.”

“Are you sure? It might hurt.” He looked at the bandaged wings on Cas’ back; there couldn’t have been more than fifteen inches left. Gabriel had batted everyone away before they could touch them, directing Rowena on how to make the right poultice, quiet but firm. He had applied the poultice with gentle hands, but it must have been agony as even unconscious Cas had whimpered in pain. After, he had carefully wrapped them with the bandages, mirroring every flinch from the angel below him.

“It already hurts.”

 

* * *

 

 

They stood under the spray of the shower together, the smell of blood erased in favour of the artificial fruitiness of shampoo. Cas had kept glancing down to his hands on the way over, so as soon as the water temperature was right for them Dean had taken them in his own and scrubbed them clean, guiding them to rest on his shoulders once he had finished, the grounding that Cas needed.

He kept most of Cas’ back out of the spray as he ran the washcloth across the planes of his body, but he knew that the worst of it was around the remains of his wings, where the brief wipe-down Rowena had given him had only scratched the surface. Wanting to put it off as long as possible, knowing that he would have to see Cas in pain once more, he set the washcloth aside and instead pressed the shampoo bottle into Cas’ hands.

“Wash my hair?” he asked, bowing his head, but catching the grateful look in Cas’ eyes before he did so. It would be a strain on his back, but Dean knew that Cas didn’t want to be coddled, was as stubborn about being taken care of as he was himself, so he settled a hand on Cas’ hip, thumb moving in caress when he heard a hiss of pain from the angel. Dean returned the favour when he was finished, enjoying the peaceful faraway look Cas got when he rubbed his scalp, the touch such a juxtaposition to Michael’s bruising grip. He continued the ministrations for a while, letting the water wash over them and steam coil around them like a protective shield. He slid his hands down, lightly massaging Cas’ shoulders, his hips, his lower back, before pulling away and picking up the washcloth once more.

Bracing himself, he said softly, “We need to do your back now. I’ll need to remove the bandages.”

Cas nodded, and while he turned Dean shut off the shower, not wanting to go all in straight away. He had pressed himself up against the tiles, face forward and hands bracing, and the sight startled Dean, almost an exact mirror of his position in the chamber when Dean could only stand and watch.

Clenching his teeth to prevent the cry that was threatening to escape, he tugged lightly at Cas’ arm and pulled him out of the cubicle to the benches in the centre of the room, “Not like that. Please.”

As usual, Cas understood, shooting him a sympathetic smile; it wasn’t like the position was comfortable for him either.

The bandages were tinged pink in some places where the ointment had congealed with Cas’ blood, and yellow in other spots where the damaged skin had wept. Peeling away the first layer was easy enough, but the lower layers clung to his skin, scabbing them together and aggravating the wounds further. Cas was trembling, his grip splintering the wooden slats under his grip, and every now and then Dean would tear his hands away from the wounds and run his hands comfortingly up and down Cas’ arms, voice rumbling out soothing words.

The final layer was the hardest, the fabric annealing with not only skin but the few stray feathers than had survived the blows. A lot of the feathers left had fallen out with the bandage, and Dean did his best to keep Cas from seeing them though it was difficult with no obvious places to hide them. In the end he stepped briefly away from the angel and stuffed them under his clothes on the floor. All of them would have to be burned anyway.

Cas hadn’t moved from his spot, barely even turned his head, but his eyes followed Dean in his periphery, and Dean’s heart clenched seeing how broken he looked. He stood in front of Cas this time, pulling him up by his hands and guiding him back into the shower.

It would have been easier if the shower heads were detachable, and he silently cursed the fact that they’d never bothered to upgrade the 30s plumbing. Instead he wrapped his arms around him and motioned Cas to do the same, so they were hugging close, “Ok, Cas, I’m going to guide you under the water, and I want you to keep a hold of me, yeah?”

“But I could hurt you.”

“Shh, don’t worry, I trust you.” He said, reaching out to grab the washcloth from the holder, “Now, I’m going to turn on the shower and it’ll be cold at first, ok? Then once you’re used to it we can turn it up if you like.”

Cas flinched as the cold spray splashed on his legs but held on. Dean didn’t want it to be freezing, but settled it just shy of lukewarm so he didn’t aggravate the sensitive skin. He soaked the washcloth and brought it up to Cas’ back, a good few inches below his wings and wrung the water out a little, “That temperature good?”

“Yes,” he affirmed, breath hot on Dean’s neck.

“Ok, I’m going to walk you under the water.” 

The steps were awkward and wobbly, but Dean knew immediately when the water hit it’s mark when Cas’ nails drew blood by his shoulder blades, “Hurts,” Cas gasped out, and Dean could feel the wetness of tears on his neck.

“Hey, it’s ok, sunshine, you’re doing great.” Dean murmured, “I’m only going to rub the cloth on your back.”

He tried his best to avoid brushing the wings, but sometimes the cloth would catch, and Cas would flinch harshly, grip bruising. Dean hadn’t wanted to draw it out, but Cas was actually relaxing a bit under the water, that first impact forgotten in favour of relief. He eventually dropped the cloth to the side, not wanting to rub the skin raw, and instead used his hands to massage close to the root of his wings.

“You can touch them.”

Dean inhaled sharply, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“Cas...”

“Please, Dean,” he whispered, almost begging.

Hesitantly, he increased the circling movements he was making to cover the skin at the bottom of the wing, increasing its radius and moving further along the appendage when Cas sighed into his skin. There were more feathers towards the root than the remaining length, one of the aborted cuts Michael made having hit even as close as five inches, a deep scar that had chipped the bone and had taken a lot of feathers with it. He ran his fingers over some of the fluffy feathers that remained, short and soft and not quite black and Cas jerked in his arms.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, quickly letting go.

“No, it’s good.” He explained breathily, “It feels good, Dean. Relaxing.”

“Yeah?” he said shakily, bringing both hands up to feel the vane of the feathers again, the one under his left hand longer and sleeker than the ones he’d felt before.

“My garrison used to groom them in heaven, using their grace.” Cas said, practically purring, “But they’ve never been, ah, physically touched like this.”

Dean should be happy that Castiel was trusting him with something like this, allowing him to touch the closest thing to his true form as he ever could, and he was, of course he was, but the blind rage at Michael was resurfacing, the fact that the first, and essentially the last, touch these wings had actually felt had been his forceful hands.

“They’re so soft,” he said, trying to focus on the feel of the feathers against his skin instead.

“I wish you could have seen them when they were... When we first met.” Cas pulled his head back a little so he could see Dean’s face, hands sliding from his back to Dean’s shoulders.

“You did show me, even if it was just in shadow,” Dean smiled down at him, their eyes locked, “Gotta say I was very impressed. Scared shitless at the time, but you certainly made an impression.”

Cas shuffled closer, admiring the way Dean looked under the spray of the shower, the way his eyes seemed to sparkle more. He was a little overwhelmed by Dean, by how close he was and the warmth of his skin, by the way his words always seemed to calm him, by the kindness and brightness of his soul he had first observed that day in Hell.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean said gently, taking his hand away from the wing to turn off the tap, “Let’s get you dried off.”

He turned to the bench to grab the best towel they owned, a soft white thing they’d pilfered from a motel room by accident. The motion pulled at his back a little, the scratches from Cas’ grasp stinging a little and Dean heard him gasp behind him.

“Dean! Your back!” Cas cried, even as Dean shuffled to hide the mess of broken skin there.

“It’s fine Cas, just a few cuts, they’ll heal.”

“But I did this, I hurt you,” he said, tracing a finger over the wounds, reaching out with his grace and watching the skin stitch itself back together under his fingers.

“Cas? Hey, what? No, no!” Dean turned away from the touch, but Cas had already healed him, and the angel sagged as Dean wrapped his arms around him once more, “You didn’t have to use your grace man, c’mon. It was only a scratch.”

“But I hurt you Dean,” he repeated.

“Yeah, I know buddy, but not in any way that matters,” he said, wrapping the towel around Cas and sitting him back down on the bench, “I’m sure Gabriel would have done it eventually, if with some bribery.”

Cas didn’t reply, what was done was done, the tiredness washing over him again. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he had so much to do, to see Jack and comfort him, to apologise to Sam for leaving him behind, and to thank Gabriel for his help. His eyes were drooping as Dean lifted him in his arms, supported so strongly under the knees and arm resting just his wings. He wrapped his own arms around Dean’s neck, pressing his face into the warm skin there.

“Let’s get you to bed, sunshine.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had this thought for a while now of Michael cutting off Castiel’s wings, and I really don’t know why because I love Cas and no-one should ever hurt him. 
> 
> But I like the idea that killing an angel is bad but accepted as a necessary evil sometimes (ish, I mean angel blades exist for a reason, right?), then torture is a horrible practice but sadly expected in this war, but then angel’s wings are completely taboo. Like they are almost sacred in a way that even demons respect (hell, even Asmodeus didn’t fuck with Gabriel’s wings). Then it’s part of the reason that the fall was so bad because their wings were damaged which is unspeakable. But damage is one thing, and to cut off an angel’s wings (something only another angel could do, celestial intent yadda yadda) is so horrific and painful that the pain resonates through the grace of every angel.  
> So much so that God could perceive it from where ever he is with Amara.


End file.
